Beautiful Disaster Edited
by Setkia
Summary: Sanji is the assistant cook of the world-renowned restaurant, the Baratie. He's a successful chef and flirts with the customers every chance he can get but there's a problem. It's all a façade. The cooks give a new meaning to the word "abusive", both mental and physical. The only thing keeping Sanji alive is his love for cooking and a good ol' cigarette. Edited/Revised.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:** I don't own **One Piece.** This is basically a reboot of my 2015 story, **Beautiful Disaster**. It's being edited, and for those of you who have never read it, I hope you like it!_

* * *

 _ **Beautiful Disaster  
**_ _by: Setkia_

* * *

 **Full Summary**

 **Sanji is the assistant cook of the world-renowned restaurant, the Baratie, the only restaurant like it in the world. He's a successful chef and flirts with the customers every chance he can get but there's a problem. It's all a façade. The cooks give a new meaning to the word "abusive", both mental and physical. The only thing keeping Sanji alive is his love for cooking and a good ol' pack of cigarettes.**

 **Zoro Roronoa is a swordsman who suddenly has more change in his pocket than he expected and enters the Baratie by recommendation. His waiter happens to be a curly browed man with an adoration for cigarettes. An attempt speak to the head chef goes horribly wrong and he gets sucked into the crumbling world of the chef's, wondering how he can possibly save him and better yet, why does he want to save him in the first place?**

* * *

Chapter 1: The Waiter With The Curly Brow

* * *

A friend of his, Johnny, had recommended the joint. Said it served the best food he had ever tasted, even if they were a bit pricey.

And yet, despite telling himself that once he had a wallet full of yen, he would be spending it on better things than some fancy-smancy restaurant—

"Um, I'm here to talk about my reservation?"

The blond behind the counter looked up at him. He had one of the curliest eyebrows Zoro had ever seen, above a deep blue eye and the cigarette he was smoking rested lazily in between his lips. He inhaled it as though he were smelling the sweetest rose, and not burning up his larynx.

"I'm Zoro Roronoa," he said, feeling stupid. "I made a reservation?"

The man, whose name-tag read _"Sanji",_ raised his curly eyebrow. "Roronoa." His voice was low and deep. "This way," he said, picking up a menu with a smile. It was obviously fake. He disposed of his cigarette into a waste bin behind the counter, and beckoned Zoro to follow him.

Zoro didn't like the man's attitude, but he did as instructed and took a seat in the far back of the restaurant where there was a _"No Smoking"_ sign.

The swordsman waited anxiously for the man to leave, the smell of his cigarettes sticking to the blond's black suit and making him cringe. To his horror, the man did not move. Instead, he opened his mouth, and in the same baritone said, "My name is Sanji, sir. Is there anything I can get you to drink?"

 _No fucking way._

"E-excuse me?"

"May I get you anything to drink?" repeated the waiter. "We have a large assortment of alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages, all relatively reasonably priced."

Zoro gaped. "B-but—"

"Yes?"

"You're … you're that guy who's behind the counter, aren't you? Doesn't that mean you're not a waiter? How can you have two jobs at once?"

The man frowned. "We're a little short on staff. Everyone works on a rotation schedule and to be dreadfully honest sir, I'm not a waiter and would wish if you did not call me such. I'm a cook, a chef to be more precise. I'm merely filling in for certain roles which are currently vacant. I do believe the job which you so eloquently described as 'that guy behind the counter' would be the receptionist, Mr. Roronoa."

Great, stuck with this guy for a whole night? No matter, he'd just order his food, eat quickly and leave. The Lord knew he was better at inhaling food rather than eating it and savouring flavours. He was a busy man with a tight schedule; he couldn't put his whole day on hold for a few leisurely minutes to eat.

The waiter— _cook_ , gave him a nod. "Now, about that drink?"

 _Let's see, cocktails are 18 00 yen, red or white wine is 20 00 yen per bottle, a martini is 15 00 yen, a— holy crap, there's no way a glass of vodka can possibly be 30 00 yen! Reasonable prices my ass!_

"I'll just have water," Zoro said, sending the fake cook a fake smile. It was good that he didn't have any alcohol anyway, he had a tournament tomorrow, it wouldn't do well to wake up with a hangover.

"Please feel free to browse the menu. I'll be back shortly with your drink. Let me know when you've made your decision."

Zoro turned back to his menu, ignoring his words.

Fuck, this place was expensive!

Zoro could already tell his wallet would be drained in a matter of minutes and that was if he only had an appetizer with no main course. How could people afford this stuff? The food couldn't be good enough to even _consider_ putting such prices on the meals. He settled on sashimi and a cucumber and avocado sushi for his appetizer. It seemed as though his wallet would be about 120 00 yen lighter, but he would survive. Somehow.

He gave Sanji his order while Sanji gave him a glass of water in exchange. He wasn't sure why, but the water tasted fantastic, which was weird since water didn't have much taste to begin with. The ice couldn't have magical properties, could it?

Zoro raised the glass to his eye, as though by doing this, he could better understand its secrets. He watched the ice swirl around inside and heard a woman chuckle to his left. Immediately, his head snapped around but the woman looked away, instead speaking to her friend, whispering in her ear. Probably about him from the way the girl was giggling as well.

It wasn't his fault he had never been to such a high-class place. Just because he might be famous in the martial arts and kenjutsu circles didn't mean that he was made of money. Kendo fights only gave him so much and he was a free-lance fighter as a hobby. Zoro wouldn't apologize if his etiquette didn't match that of others.

The cook brought over his food as he pondered the best way to explain himself— a uncouth, dirty swordsman in such an elegant place as the Baratie— to the woman, before he decided it didn't matter once the smell of his appetizer met his nose.

It was heavenly. Just the smell of it was enough to make his mouth water. The cook seemed rather pleased, watching the way Zoro practically salivated over the dish before he finally got his chopsticks in his hand and dug in.

Zoro didn't usually savour the flavour of anything, but it was truly exquisite and he found it would be downright rude not to enjoy the taste. It melted on his tongue, tantalizing his tastebuds and left him wanting more. It took perhaps a minute and a half before all of the sushi was gone.

He frowned at his now empty plate. He probably could've eaten slower.

Sanji let out a laugh.

"What are you looking at?"

"You're enjoying your meal I see?"

Zoro's eyes narrowed and the man laughed again. It was short and abrupt, and it wasn't until the cook took his plate that Zoro realized it was fake.

Horribly and completely hollow of emotion, thinking about that laugh sent shivers down Zoro's spine.

There was something up about this cook. He attracted your eye with his blond hair, the only blond in the room.

He watched as Sanji leaned over a table to speak to a nice woman with pretty blonde hair. He had a cigarette in his mouth once more. It suit him. He was obviously flirting with the girl, who blushed and swatted his hand away playfully. He whispered something in her ear and Zoro snickered.

The Baratie may be high-class, but the waiters didn't seem all that put together.

There was something about the way Sanji moved. It was so fluid and natural, graceful even. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was just an unnaturally graceful waiter. Zoro was about to stop his intense observation of the blond (he could admit it was starting to seem creepy), when he saw Sanji bump into another waiter. Sanji stopped the waiter's tray from falling from the collision, quickly, giving it back to him, but the look on the other waiter's face was nowhere near grateful.

The route that Sanji took across the restaurant, Zoro realized, was not fluid and natural in the slightest. The way he seemed to glide was because he was on the tips of his toes, ready to move anywhere at the last instant and whenever he found himself in a corner of the room, the curly browed cook would look at the room calculatingly before he took his steps, always moving in a certain route. A route that, Zoro realized, avoided all other waiters in the room.

It was subtle, almost unnoticeable, the way that Sanji seemed to ignore them, as though they weren't there. He didn't make it obvious and Zoro supposed it wasn't supposed to be obvious. He did it so naturally, so instinctively, you wouldn't think it was unusual unless you saw the way his jaw clenched on his cigarette when he was dangerously close to brushing by another waiter.

Certain his hungry stomach was making him see things, Zoro was more than delighted when his main course arrived.

Using his chopsticks, he took a piece of the sashimi. Instantly, his eyes closed and his head tossed itself back. He let out a delighted moan that was just a little too loud and the entire room turned towards him. He glared at them all before taking another bite out of the orgasmic meal.

If the appetizer was heaven, then the meal was paradise. It made him want to roll his eyes into the back of his head and just slip into a coma of the sensations it gave him, filling his stomach fully and wonderfully.

"Satisfied?" Zoro didn't have to look to know the cook was smirking.

Zoro finished his food and was well and full when Sanji handed him another menu. "And for dessert, Mr. Roronoa?" he asked.

Dessert? Zoro hadn't even thought of dessert. Imagawayaki sounded remarkably good right now and despite the fact that his stomach was busting, Zoro nodded and asked for an order of it.

It was only after the menu was gone and the order was placed that Zoro realized how many zeroes had been next to the dessert's price. He was going to go bankrupt here. He hated to admit it but Johnny had been right. Regardless of that, Zoro wouldn't be able to pay his rent, never mind the bill at this rate.

When his dessert was brought to him, he ate it without question and once again, nearly melted from the taste. He almost let out another moan, but he held it in, Sanji smirking all the while, probably knowing that Zoro was loving his meal.

Once he was done, the check came. This was the part that Zoro had been dreading. Pulling out his wallet, he searched through his money. His tally was 147 75 yen. Boy was he glad he hadn't asked for any fancy wine.

He paid his amount and was about to stand when he thought it over.

Zoro had been paying an unnatural amount of attention towards his waiter and the service had been good, not to mention the food (Zoro was sure if he thought about the food long enough, he might end up moaning again, so he resisted the urge), so maybe he could spare a few more minutes and speak to the head chef, give his proper compliments and all.

Zoro pushed out his chair, got his jacket, and headed for the kitchen doors. Maybe he could just pop in quickly, give the man his compliments to the chef and then he'd get the sleep he needed before his competition tomorrow.

Zoro was about to knock on the door when he heard a loud sound.

In general, Zoro figured that kitchens were noisy, with cooks and chefs and waiters running in and out, plus the sound of the pots and pans— the making of food was no silent task, after all— but this loud sound had not been pots or pans.

No, this loud sound was a scream.

One of pain.

Looking around him, no one else seemed to have noticed the scream. Against his better judgement, Zoro listened.

"You think I can serve this shit?"

There was a wince and Zoro looked through the small window of the doors to see inside. It didn't look like there was a shortage of staff. There was steam from the pots and beeping from the ovens, distracting him until his eyes fell upon a large man in a hairnet, waving around a ladle as though it were a weapon.

"There's nothing wrong with my soup!"

Zoro knew that voice.

Sanji.

But where was he?

"Oh yeah?" demanded the other man. "Are you trying to poison our customers? This shit's horrible—"

Hadn't Sanji said he was a chef? He had sounded so proud of himself when he said it too. What kind of chef took pride in his meals if they were shit? Was one of them lying?

 _CRASH!_

A bowl of soup fell to the floor and shattered, the liquid pooling at the man's feet. "I can't believe the old man lets you cook here! And why were you out there serving? You're a cook, as shitty as you are, you aren't supposed to be out with the waiters!"

"I'm a shitty cook?" Sanji repeated. " _I'm_ a shitty cook? I'm surprised people can manage to swallow the load of shit you feed them!"

 _SMACK!_

Sanji came into Zoro's few when he hit the floor. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the blood almost invisible on his black blazer, but still undeniably there. "What the fuck was that for?"

"Head chef ain't here, which means you're no different from us," the big man said. "You should know your fucking place!" He struck Sanji with the ladle harshly in the gut. Zoro watched the pain as it registered in Sanji's expression, a matching pain hitting Zoro.

"And that sashimi you made?" The man spat on the ground, onto the soup. "The only reason we served it was because we didn't have time to fix your fuck up!"

Wait, _Sanji_ had made that heavenly sashimi? Zoro understood why people had food kinks now, the man in the hairnet was clearly lying to him. But _why_?

"Now get the fucking dishes done, you're not leaving this room till closing time, right, Carne?" the big man asked, turning to grin at someone who was out of Zoro's line of vision.

The man moved away, kicking the broken pieces of the bowl at Sanji, before he rolled up his sleeves and went back to cooking.

Sanji took a long drag of his cigarette. He picked up the broken pieces of the bowl while the rest of the kitchen continued as though this were nothing new. Was this … normal?

As Sanji threw the broken pieces of the plate into the garbage, his eyes suddenly locked on Zoro's.

Sanji froze, as though he had been caught committing a heinous crime, the colour draining from his already pale face. Was this the secret of the curly brow waiter? Was this why he avoided the other waiters?

Zoro bolted to his car and once the door slammed shut, he sat in silence behind the wheel, the keys in the silent ignition.

Fuck it if he went broke, he was coming back.

It was happening. He had seen it all, but hopefully, this time there would be a different outcome. He could see the future that awaited the man, could see it in his eyes and it scared him.

Zoro didn't know how far gone the cook was, but he knew he wouldn't let him fall any deeper.

He would catch him, like he should've caught her.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note #1:** I don't own **One Piece**. The main reason for this rewrite is because I never did get around to properly editing the story. My writing has improved since I first wrote the fic, so I'm cutting certain scenes and added in ones I think make the story flow better to improve Sanji and Zoro's development._

* * *

 _ **Beautiful Disaster  
**_ _by: Setkia_

* * *

 **Full Summary**

 **Sanji is the assistant cook of the world-renowned restaurant, the Baratie, the only restaurant like it in the world. He's a successful chef and flirts with the customers every chance he can get but there's a problem. It's all a façade. The cooks give a new meaning to the word "abusive", both mental and physical. The only thing keeping Sanji alive is his love for cooking and a good ol' pack of cigarettes.**

 **Zoro Roronoa is a swordsman who suddenly has more change in his pocket than he expected and enters the Baratie by recommendation. His waiter happens to be a curly browed man with an adoration for cigarettes. An attempt speak to the head chef goes horribly wrong and he gets sucked into the crumbling world of the chef's, wondering how he can possibly save him and better yet, why does he want to save him in the first place?**

* * *

Chapter 2: That Marimo Bastard

* * *

The bastard was here again.

He didn't know why, but for some reason, that annoying moss-headed idiot was sitting at a seat in the corner of the room, this time in a smoking-permitting zone.

Sanji knew that pretending to be a waiter had been worth the abuse. True, he was more bruised than he probably would have been if he had just stayed inside the kitchen, but socializing with the customers was something he hadn't done in so long. The look on their faces when they ate their food, especially when it was food Sanji had prepared, was priceless.

The waiters had ignored him unless they were forced to acknowledge his presence and the others in the kitchen had given him scowls, but took the orders he had submitted and allowed him to return to serve them to the customers. It had worked once, maybe it could work again? He'd take whatever punishment those awful cooks deemed appropriate to see the beautiful Baratie being run the way he and Zeff had envisioned it.

Taking a long drag, he approached the moss-haired idiot, a notepad clutched in his hand, a menu in his other.

 _He doesn't know that much,_ he reasoned with each step, though he couldn't seem to convince himself, no matter how much he wanted to. His heartbeat was deafening in his ears. _You don't know how long he was there, he could've seen nothing. Or he could have seen everything._

"Hello and welcome to the Baratie," he greeted with a smile. Whoever said it took less muscles to smile than to frown was a fucking liar. "Is there anything I can get you to drink to start you off?"

As the man looked at his menu, Sanji tried to place him. He was familiar. He had gotten the same feeling the night before. His eyes wandered to a TV broadcast, (Sanji hated the TVs, they were Carne's idea) the headline reading:

 _Zoro Roronoa takes first place prize in national Kendo competition!_

"You're Zoro Roronoa, the Kendo champion?"

"Yeah? So?"

 _Fucking fantastic._ Not only was he seen at his lowest point by a customer, that customer had to be Zoro Roronoa, the famous Kendo star. Sanji felt stupid for not recognizing him sooner.

"I'll have water."

"Pardon?" asked Sanji, pulled out of his thoughts.

"My drink. I'll have water."

"Of course, right away sir," said Sanji, flashing him a fake smile.

"No Mr. Roronoa today?" Zoro teased. "Or was that just a one-time special?"

Sanji ignored him. He had to figure out how he would deal with this mess, before he could even think about playing games with the swordsman.

He took the pitcher from a deserted tray on an empty table and returned to Zoro, pouring it into his glass.

The green-haired man smiled at him as he poured his drink. How long had it been since he had seen someone smile for a reason other than food with such sincerity? Better question: when was the last time someone had smiled at _him_?

Unsure of how to respond, he busied himself in looking around the restaurant. From the look on the clients' faces, they liked his famous soup, not that anyone had to know it was his. After all, what was an assistant chef who took credit for his own work? No, Patty could take all the credit he wanted. Sanji couldn't wait for the day when the media finally asked him how he made it and Patty gave them that blank stare.

There was a tugging at his cuff.

"Yes?"

"I'd like to order now, Cook."

Sanji's eyes widened. Of the few people he told on the occasions he managed to sneak out of the kitchens about his cook status, none remembered.

Shaking off his surprise, he nodded. "What will it be, Mr. Roronoa?"

"I think I'll have the tempura for my main dish."

"And for your appetizer?"

Zoro smirked. "The soup."

Sanji didn't have to ask which one.

Entering the kitchen with caution, he looked both left and right, making sure Patty was no where to be seen. He approached one of the less aggressive cooks (they were all aggressive in the end) and placed the order before leaving the kitchen quickly and swiftly.

People watching was a habit of his. Cabin fever, or rather, kitchen fever, did that to him. He would stare at the others around the restaurant, memorizing everything and he would store it away until he needed it again. When he was sick with loneliness.

"Sanji!"

Sanji turned at the sound of his name to see Moodie, the blonde beauty. "Hello, darling," he said with a bright smile.

"I haven't seen you in a while," Moodie said. "Fullbody's gotten unbearable. I was thinking about taking you up on that offer, if you know what I mean?"

Sanji offered her a smile in return. Fake, forced, but not as forced as usual. She always brought that out of him. "I wish I could Honey, but the Chief's got me running in circles." He gently slid his hand down her shoulder, resting at her elbow. She acted like she was touch-starved. Fullbody was an ungrateful douche. "Hang in there, alright? You're far too pretty to be wasted on some idiot like Fullbody."

Moodie smiled and let out a giggle. "I'm pretty, am I?"

Sanji let out a short laugh of his own. "Absolutely stunning," he assured her. "Now, I have to get going but I'll see you later, okay, Sweetie?"

Moodie nodded and returned back to her table where she sat with the idiot lieutenant who knew nothing about being fair to women. Sanji didn't have much experience, to be honest, but it was clear that the way Fullbody showed her off like she was a trophy was not the right way to handle a woman. If your date needed to be told she was pretty when it was obvious, something wasn't right.

"Sanji, your order's here!"

Sanji quickly checked his watch. The later in the night it got, the more the cooks hit the booze. It was nine. He was safe for now.

He dove into the kitchen quickly, grabbed Zoro's order and was half-way out the door when he was grabbed by the collar of his shirt and yanked back by a big meaty hand.

Fuck.

"What were you doing out there, eh, Shit Cook?" demanded Patty. "Playing servant?" He looked at the bowl of soup in Sanji's hands and scowled. "You wanna feed someone this shit? You'll need to clean up the puke when they hurl." Sanji lost his balance as Patty punctuated his sentence with a push forwards, making Sanji tumble out the swinging doors, the bowl falling from his tray. There was a clatter and everyone's eyes turned towards him. Including Zoro's. Fuck.

Sanji tried to ignore the whispers as he cleaned up the mess quickly before racing back into the kitchen. He went to the backroom to make a fresh pot of the soup. He could forgive their rudeness, it was the waste of perfectly good food that had him boiling.

Once it was finished, he made extra sure that no one was around and dashed out the kitchen doors. Speed was something he had learnt was very beneficial to him if he used it to his advantage. He could be in and out of the kitchen in no time at all, leaving the other cooks wondering if he had ever really been there to begin with.

He walked over to Zoro's table, bavo in place. His shirt clung to his body, still damp and probably smelling of soup but he ignored it and placed the soup on Zoro's table. "Sorry for the wait, there were … complications."

"Complications?" Zoro looked Sanji up and down.

Sanji knew that Zoro had seen his fall, so he wasn't staring at his chest in order to identify the wet blotch, so then, why was he staring? He wasn't wearing white, there was no way Zoro could see the scars— was he … _checking him out_? Sanji mentally shook his head. That was preposterous. Paranoid regardless, he left Zoro to his own devices and headed to his next client.

Once Zoro's food was ready, Sanji speedily went in and out of the kitchen, returning quickly before Patty had another chance to get to him. It was nine thirty and though he hated to admit, Zoro's dinner experience was probably crippled and took longer than most.

Placing the food on the table, this time Sanji stuck around, watching as Zoro ate. There was something so open about how the swordsman enjoyed his meal that reminded Sanji why he was still here after all these years.

As Zoro cleaned his plate, Sanji spotted Moodie sitting next to Fullbody. That man was pure scum and yet somehow, a woman with as much beauty as Moodie had become his latest reluctant companion. It made Sanji's blood boil—

"—was yours, right?"

Sanji's head snapped back to Zoro and gave him a strange look. "Pardon?"

"That soup, it was yours, right? You made it."

Sanji could only nod numbly. How had this man figured it out before the press?

"Anything for dessert, Mr. Roronoa?" asked Sanji, trying to cover up his surprise.

Zoro shook his head. "Can I have the check please?"

Sanji nodded and returned moments later with it in hand.

"How's your diaphragm?"

Sanji choked. Zoro didn't look up from his wallet, leafing through it to get out the 130 00 yen he needed. "You're short about 50 00 yen."

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that," said Zoro. "I don't really make that much and besides, I have to keep bailing my friends out of jail so with those fees and all—" Zoro coughed into his hand and Sanji wondered why the man was being so awkward. Then it hit him.

He knew.

Did he feel sorry for him? Was that why he was sharing so much? The last thing Sanji wanted was pity. What could he possibly do to keep Zoro from telling? How could he make Zoro forget?

Seeing the trouble the green-haired man was in, Sanji came up with an idea. It was a long-shot but he needed to try it.

Leaning over the table, Sanji lowered his voice. "I'll let it slide, the money I mean, if you forget about what you saw."

Zoro gaped at him.

"So?" Sanji asked. "What do you say?"

"Fuck no!"

Everyone turned to Zoro's table once again and Sanji sighed, biting down harshly on his cigarette. Would it kill the moron to be quiet?

Sanji sent him a glare and Zoro had the sense to look slightly embarrassed. "Fuck no," he repeated in a quieter voice.

"What do you want?" he asked. "What's it going to take for you to forget?"

Without a beat, Zoro replied, "This table."

Sanji let out a laugh. "Sorry Mr. Roronoa, we don't sell them. Go out to a nice furniture store, I'm sure you can find one just like it."

Zoro gritted his teeth. "No, you bastard, that's not what I meant. I want this table reserved for me. Every night."

Sanji raised a surprised eyebrow. "Okay," Sanji said disbelievingly.

"I'll pay you whatever's in my wallet. All of it. If I have 150 00 yen, I'll give it to you, even if the meal only costs me 125 00 yen. Whatever cash is in my wallet at the time, I'll use to pay you. The whole contents of it."

"What, nothing left for gas money?"

Zoro ignored him. "Do we have a deal?"

"If I do this, reserve this table for you every night, will you forget what you saw?"

"On my honour."

"Oh, a swordsman's honour! It's practically God's word!"

"Do we have a deal or not?"

Sanji frowned at his finished cigarette. Pulling out a new one, he lit it up, hoping Zoro didn't notice the way his hand trembled with the lighter. Tossing the finished cigarette into the ashtray, he breathed in the smoke. "Deal." Looking behind him, he saw Patty's silhouette in the kitchen doors. "Now, if you would excuse me, Mr. Roronoa, I have a job to do."

"Zoro," the swordsman said. "Call me Zoro."

Sanji let out a bitter laugh that held no happiness or joy. He sent him a harsh glare. "Don't push it."

With that, he walked to the kitchen, already able to feel the rolling pin crushing his ribs.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note #2:** The thank-yous!_

 _bakayaro onna: As I said in the 1st author's note, it's not exactly a rewrite, so much as a revised edition. _


End file.
